In the opening scene of Miss Americana, the 2020 Netflix documentary about her life, Taylor Swift flips through her pink childhood diary and recalls her early credo: “The main thing that I always tried to be was a good girl.” Since then, she’s translated this value system into a career of wholesome hitmaking; even when she made herself over as a campy villain on reputation, the point was mostly to underscore how awkwardly the costume fit. But after so many years of defending the moral high ground—from ex-boyfriends, rappers, label executives—Swift started to admit her own fallibility. “I’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror,” she sings on “Anti-Hero,” from Midnights, her tenth studio album. “It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.”
The song sounds like the collision of three different Swift eras: There’s the lacquered synth-pop of 1989, the neurotic image analysis of reputation, the dense lyricism of folklore and evermore. Swift and trusted collaborator Jack Antonoff keep the production simple—a methodical drum loop, simmering synths—focusing in on a series of vignettes in which Swift is haunted by past mistakes. The verses are full of surprises, and a bit unruly; it’s almost like, after writing circles around her peers for ages, Swift got bored and set herself on absurd little challenges: Quadruple the rhymes in the prechorus? (Possibly) call back to 30 Rock? Imagine the twisted aftermath of your own murder? All these moments call attention to themselves, leaving a stronger impression of the song’s quirks than of the welcome levity it brings to Swift’s habit of self-mythologizing. She’s right that it’s sometimes exhausting to root for her, though not always for the reasons she thinks.
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